Ghosts and Spectres
by NCR Ranger
Summary: Nobody expects those they thought to be dead to reveal themselves to not actually have died at all.


Terminus systems colony world ' Horizon '

Skyrise Park

0930 hours.

* * *

_There's no such thing as ghosts_

_There's no such thing as ghosts_

_There's no such thing as ghosts_

Some small voice in the back of Ashley's head kept repeating that same sentence over and over again. It was loud, and it wouldn't stop. Ashley _knew_ she wasn't crazy, though: the knowledge that ghosts didn't exist was simply common sense. Everyone and their mother knew that there was no such thing, as a ghost.

A ghost facing her across the waving bronze grass of the Skyrise Park. There was nobody of the colony's population around to witness this; the Collectors had stolen them all away in the hold of their gargantuan, termite mound-looking vessel. All they'd left was their bullet riddled, napalm scorched corpses, and an chilling emptiness in what had once been a bustling, thriving town.

It was a town of the dead, which was fitting right now.

There was no coming back from the dead. Ashley had learned that the hardest way possible, when her father had finally died on them all back when she was a child. It had been reinforced in a shower of blood and bullets during the battle on Eden Prime when the 212th Colonial Rifles was wiped out around her, leaving her as the lone survivor.

The circumstances were different, but the lesson at the end was the same.

Dead- someone who was well and truly_ dead_, and more than anything else, if you _loved_ that someone- was dead. You did not come back to the land of the living as a _ghost_, or a _spirit_, or a _revenant_. You could not meet that someone ever again as long as you lived. If you ever found them again, it would only be when you were also well and truly dead.

_" I believe he's watching us. "_

_" From heaven ? Or, wherever it is we go after death ? "_

_" Dead on, skipper. He's with God now. "_

A brief conversation, which had gone down in a handful of seconds, flashed into her mind like a struck spark. It'd been years ago- 2 years, to be exact-, but she remembered it as clearly as if it had been this _morning._

A conversation, that she'd had with someone she'd watched die as much and as violently as any of the fallen members of the 212th. Actually, even more so than them: He'd been aboard the _Normandy SR-1, _at the exact moment when the Collectors obliterated that tough little ship in orbit over the miserable ice plant Alchera.

None of the escape pods that'd managed to blast clear had him in them. Ashley had found that out that the man in question had been vented into space as the _Normandy_ disintegrated like a shattered vase. That revelation, came long after any hardsuit in the galaxy could've kept its occupant alive in the vacuum of space.

Jeremiah Shepard had died that day. He had been as killed as killed could be, and a large piece of Ashley had died along with him.

But, now, _everything_ about that was all turned on its head. _Everything._

Because, standing only a few yards ahead of her, right here and right now, was none other than:

_Jeremiah Shepard himself._

* * *

The " ghost ", as if being in existence wasn't violating the rules of reality enough , then went one further, and _spoke._

_"_ Ashley !?_ "_

That voice. Ashley recognized it. She'd know it anywhere, even over comms, even from several planets away. Let alone if the speaker was standing so nearby.

He was not alone, of course. Standing behind him, with an M-92 Sniper Rifle cradled in both taloned hands, was a Turian with a badly scarred face and combat armor with its collar sections chewed up by obvious blast force. Despite all the damage, there was no mistaking the overall visage of Garrus Vakarian.

Another survivor ( unlike the ghost ) of the death of the original _Normandy. _

Standing also behind the ghost, bracing an M-96 Mattock battle rifle over one shoulder, stood an older human male who also had a rather, _abused_ looking face. One of his eyes wasn't the same size or shape as the other, and he had a bandolier of firebombs hung across his white plated chest armor.

Ashley had no idea who he was, of course, but she could only assume that he was someone the ghost had taken onto his crew as a capable individual with skills and abilities that he wanted.

That was what the ghost had always done.

Everything about him, was agonizingly _familiar_ to her.

His armor, with its ebony black color. Some of its components, such its the sharply angular chest plates with thermal clip and grenade pouches attached, were unfamiliar to her of course, as they were certainly not Alliance standard issue. However, there was no mistaking the proud white and tomato red N7 symbol set into the upper right of those chest plates.

Only a child-sized handful of Alliance soldiers could call themselves members of the N7 ranks, and Jeremiah Shepard had been one of the best to ever exist.

_He still does exist, doesn't he ? No, he can't possibly be-_

His face, for example, with its strong-cut features befitting that of a 5-star admiral, and completed with laser piercing blue eyes. And, his voice. A deep baritone. Easily carrying a confident, but not arrogant edge, and even more easily given to getting folks- whether they were military or not- to want to follow his orders ( which, of course, is the true secret of being in command ).

It could also be, as it was being right now, gentle and emotional, though. Ashley knew all of this for a fact, because she knew the man-

_No. No, no- you're _dead. _You're dead. I saw our ship die, and you were on her !_

_I don't know what to- How is this-_

It _was_, though. Every inch of him she was looking at right now, told her this was _definitely_ him. Except, the rest of her kept screaming that this wasn't possible, because he was _dead._

Speechless, all Ashley could do was stare at him as the shock alone of seeing him alive threatened to overwhelm her. The inside of her throat tightened, and her eyes began to sting.

Sure, she felt like crying. She also felt like screaming. But, whether that was in anger, grief, or joy, she couldn't be sure.

Probably all 3.

_He's not a ghost. There's a damn shadow on the ground behind him, and besides, there's no such thing as a ghosts !_

_But, he can't be- I saw. Him. _Die.

_I saw you die, Jeremiah. And I didn't even know I had._

_" _Ashley ? "

The gh- Jerimiah spoke again.

He took a few steps forward.

" Ashley Its me, Jeremiah ! "

The not- ghost, Jeremiah, took a few steps forward.

He had a mixed expression on that keenly familiar face: Jeremiah was clearly delighted, but he also appeared concerned. None of it was forced; Ashley could tell. Automatically, she _knew._

In fact, that was the real problem: She'd known from the second she'd first seen him here, that he was real. That he, Jeremiah Shepard, was alive, and real, and here in front of her as a living, breathing piece of her past. Yet, the rest of her- the heartbroken, grief stricken woman who'd had to leave the love of her life behind on a burning, fatally damaged ship- wasn't so eager to forget that all that happened. It rebelled against what even it had to know was true.

It was true. He was alive.

_He's, yes, he's alive ! Its impossible, that's also true, but-_

_He's _**alive**_ ! _

" Jeri ? "

Ashely practically gasped out his name. After more than 2 years of being apart, of believing he was _dead and gone, _she had him back.

" Jeri ? Is that, really you ?! "

Her own voice rose a little. Those emotions were fighting each other to the point of open conflict, and it wasn't certain which of them would come out on top. Ashley refused to collapse to them, though. That wouldn't be becoming of a Williams.

Jeremiah would want her to stay strong.

Wouldn't he ?

" You don't have to say anything ", he assured her. " Doesn't matter how crazy hectic things have been, or how busy I was; I _wouldn't_ let a chance to take on the Collectors, _and_ reunite with you go by me. I wouldn't go AWOL on you."

" I wanted to find you, Ashley. "

His tone had take on a calm, steadier note, and the corner of his mouth had turned up in the small, genuinely upbeat way of a man who'd found something that a man would truly value- a woman who he loved, for example- , and had found her again after years of not.

Which was good, because Ashley remained unable to come up with anything to say. Nothing that seemed meaningful and important, at least.

There was so much- _too much_\- she didn't know yet.

How was Jeremiah alive now ?! Had he ever truly died ? Who had brought him back ?! How had they been able to do it ? Clearly, undoubtedly, it was some kind of God-sent miracle. It had to be.

But, the questions remained. Yet, Ashley didn't want to bother with them. Not at the moment.

She wanted to assure herself he was back. That the man she'd known and loved was back. She put both arms around him, and held on like a drowning person who'd been tossed a rope.

When Jeremiah embraced her back, that was all the proof she needed.

_God, thank you. Thank you._

_You brought him back to me. _


End file.
